Chapter Text
Michael Kaiser. That fucking, arrogant, self-obsessed bastard, the asshole to end all assholes, a worthless genius son of a bitch sorry excuse for a circus clown—and yet that still wasn't enough to describe this anomaly of a soccer player. Never, in his seventeen years of life, had Isagi ever felt this level of pure, unadulterated hate for someone else before. No doubt that Kaiser was one of the best athletes he’d ever played with, and no doubt that Isagi had evolved more in this Neo Egoist League than he could've anywhere else because of him. But why did the guy always have to act like such a massive, steaming pile of garbage? Between all the collar-grabbing, constant stomping over boundaries, and the way he'd grabbed Isagi's chin the very first fucking time they met—it'd been beyond infuriating. Isagi had taken his fair share of death stares and mid-game insults by this point—all in the span of the last several months—yet none of it had ever come close to the sheer absurdity of this guy.
So, could someone please explain to him how the hell the internet had come to the conclusion that they, of all people, would make a good striker duo?!
Had none of them paid any actual attention to the BLTV footage?!
Sure. He could see that, objectively speaking, their shared vision and understanding of the field had the potential to produce some of the best plays the NEL had ever seen. But fuck “objective” — abilities weren't the only thing at play here. There was zero chance, zero way in hell that he and Kaiser would ever tap into the kind of chemical reaction or blind trust he shared with Bachira, Nagi, or Hiori before. For them to actually work together, they'd somehow have to settle their differences first, and one of them would actually die before that happened.
Sigh... All this spiraling, and he hadn't even started his actual work yet.
Isagi turned his attention back to his tablet. It was Monday morning, the day after the BM vs. Ubers match, and people online were still fervently dissecting every moment of the match. The clashing playstyles, the different strategies, the craziest goals. And—of course—his own goals.
...I still can’t believe that’s me right there.
He'd need to tear into the footage and analyze it frame by frame later, but for now, Isagi just felt... proud. He knew, of course, that he shouldn't let confidence go to his head too much, but he just couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.
He'd done it. He had won the challenge against Kaiser.
Although since the final whistle, the Emperor hadn’t said so much as a single word about it—not even a passing acknowledgement of his loss.
Not that Isagi cared. They both knew the score.
He wondered what the supposed ace of Bastard München was doing right now. Seething somewhere? Throwing a tantrum, screaming insults at a wall? Or maybe… maybe he was just lounging around, all unfazed sipping some overpriced drink, acting like the challenge had never mattered in the first place.
...And did this matter to Isagi?
He exhaled, bleeding off the pressure inside him like a kettle. No, seriously— Isagi didn't need any acknowledgment from Kaiser. He couldn’t care less about any of that, now that he'd finally put the guy in his place.
Still.. as he kept scrolling, he came across another clip of Kaiser’s bicycle kick. People online were still losing their minds over it, and he couldn't stop himself from replaying it a second time, then a third. It hadn’t just been a bicycle kick — it'd been a nutmeg, a needle-threading shot through three Ubers defenders while being fouled by Aryu. A once-in-a-million, impossible to recreate goal.
What a fucking monster.
He shut his eyes, the afterimage of the ball’s trajectory burned into his retinas. And what a goal. Isagi had thought that ever since coming here, ever since coming to Blue Lock, he'd long since evolved past those petty feelings... resentment towards those born with more natural talent than him. But sometimes, whenever he witnessed these rare moments of pure genius, he just couldn’t help but feel the slightest sting of jealousy. Because he knew… of course, while nothing was impossible, if he truly wanted to embrace the rational philosophy of Bastard München was known for, he would ultimately have to come to terms with it someday—
The fact that he might never be able to pull off such genius feats alone.
He had his Metavision. He had his tactical read on the field and player psychology. He had his Direct Shot and his newly forged lefty shot. Those were his weapons. Yes, he could always refine his specs, he could always dig deeper and add more pieces to his arsenal, but he also knew that there were just some things that'd stay forever out of his reach. In order to attain that level of skill, in order to reach the level of those chosen geniuses, he would have to work harder than anyone else, devour more than anyone else, and he wouldn’t allow himself to back down from any challenge no matter how brutal the path or high the price. Because this was his only way forward.
And yet… yet there were people like Kaiser. Talented, arrogant golden boys who seemingly never once had to break a sweat, who only struggled when someone finally gave them a taste of their own medicine. Probably spoiled rotten, handed some elite specialized training since the day he could walk. How else did he end up not just such a vainglorious prick but also beast of a player? Yet all Michael Kaiser did now was pestering Isagi, obsessed with taking him down like some kind of stepping stone. Was that really all he'd come here for? Isagi pursed his lips. What a nuisance... I just hope this loss will finally shut him up for a while.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
“Nagi, do you think you could recreate a goal like that?”
“Hmm... what are you talking about, Isagi?”
They were sitting in the canteen, grabbing a quick lunch before group training. Usually players from different stratums didn't mix outside matches, but today was an exception. Reo had originally planned for Nagi to go over their match footage together and fix his tactical flaws. Nagi, predictably, had wanted none of it—so he'd ended up begging Isagi to join their workout instead. It was a transparent excuse, and Nagi was being as difficult as ever, but Isagi found it a perfect opportunity to learn more about the nature of ‘impossible’ plays.
“Here, Nagi. Look at this.”
“Isagi… the whole reason I wanted to train with you today... was because I didn’t want to look at any more footage…”
“I know, I know, but it'll only take a second. When you scored that fake volley against us in our last match—what was actually going on in your head at that time?”
“Hmm?” Nagi’s eyes opened and closed with agonizing slowness, like a cat waking from a nap. “Didn’t I tell you before? I just did what Reo told me to do. And then I just… did it because I really wanted to.”
Isagi frowned. Ok, asking Nagi for a concrete, logical answer was rarely the most efficient use of time, but the lazybones was the closest thing to a genius like Kaiser he had access to. He’d briefly considered asking Rin, but given the state of their relationship right now... it was doubtful whether the guy would even let him finish a sentence before telling him to die.
“But Nagi,” Isagi tried again, “I almost stopped you in that moment. The first tap, the second, the third—Kaiser almost stopped you too. Yet you bounced back every single time. I just don’t get it… how were you able to achieve that?”
“Aaah, maybe I should’ve stuck with Reo after all…”
“Come on, Nagi... just think for a second.” Isagi shifted in his seat. “Look, I'll take your tray to the counter later.”
Nagi perked up instantly. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Nagi tilted his head, practically melting back onto the table. “Well… I don’t know if this helps, but… all I can say is, in that moment, I really wanted to score. I really wanted to win against you. I've had that desire ever since the U-20 match. No… ever since we met, since the very first game we played, I've had this dream. And it came true when I scored that goal.”
For a split second, Isagi saw Nagi’s eyes ignite with a spark—a flash of genuine heat—before it vanished just as quickly into his trademark droopy expression.
A dream, huh...?
What was that other genius’s dream then? To sit at the top of the industry? To be the undisputed best in the world?
He couldn’t tell for sure anymore. The goal Kaiser had scored against Ubers had been a masterpiece of pure and technical brilliance and sheer determination—but it also felt like it'd been born out of necessity. Isagi hadn't been able to feel any soul or passion behind it—no sense of a "dream" manifesting in that moment. If that was how Kaiser scored when there was no real ego behind it, then what would his goals look like if they truly did? The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Nagi stayed slumped over the table, munching on some high-protein veggie sticks at a painfully slow rhythm. Isagi took the chance to slide his tablet closer.
“And this? If you look at this goal from our last match... do you think you could do something similar?”
Nagi blinked, eyes narrowing slightly at the footage of Kaiser's bicycle kick. “...No way. Looks like way too much effort.”
“But your goal was just as impossible…”
“Besides, there was no one in my way at that time.”
Ugh, so we were just NPCs to you?
“Your Mr. Tattoo guy had three people blocking his path," Nagi went on. "I probably could’ve kicked towards the goal, but someone would've intercepted.”
...That’s right. The Kaiser Impact wasn’t a kick anyone could just pull off—it was the fastest shot in the world. There were certain conditions that had to be met in order to score a goal like that. And Nagi didn’t have Metavision or the Predator eye—he played on reflex and pure intuition. Kaiser was a calculating beast, with both the physical tools and the tactical intellect to back them up.
He really does have it all, huh...
While the talk with Nagi hadn't been as fruitful as he'd hoped (well, he hadn’t expected much anyway), it just made him realize even more what kind of genius Kaiser really was.
Yet, the mystery remained: If Kaiser really wanted to reach the top, why waste his time on a former no-name like Isagi? Sure, Isagi had been crowned Blue Lock's Ace after the U-20 match, but given their vast differences in skill and experience, Kaiser could’ve likely made a lot more progress by challenging other players in the league instead.
Or... or maybe his goals were just much more shallower than that. The bids, a transfer, the endless media exposure. But none of these things would truly allow him to become the Number One striker.
Unless... he didn’t really want to be.
But then, was that really all there was to his ego...?
“Careful, Isagi!!”
“Huh—?!”
Sssshhh—!
A sudden, searing heat bloomed across his left hand—Isagi flinched, hissing out in pain—
Someone had splashed hot water all over him!
“Aaah, Yukimiya, why’d you have to do that?” A light voice with a Kansai lilt rushed towards them. “Isagi, are you okay?? Wait- sorry, stupid question.” Just as Hiori weaved past all the chairs and reached their table, he whirled back around. “Yuki, why weren't you watching where you were going?”
“I’m so sorry, Isagi! I was in a hurry and didn’t see your bag sticking out—I’m really sorry, but I gotta run! Hiori, please take care of it for me!!” And with that, Yukimiya hurried off towards the exit, tray of tea still in hand, apologies fading as he disappeared around the corner.
Isagi sat still in his chair, blowing on his reddening hand. “What's he in such a rush for?”
“Some kinda meeting, I think.”
“And the tea?”
“Uhm… to suck up?” Hiori blinked. “Wait, who cares—more importantly, are you okay?!” He grabbed his hand and inspected it, his face tightening with worry.
“I’m fine...” Isagi said. “Just gonna go run it under cold water.”
In an instant he was at the canteen sinks, where another figure—shorter, pink-haired—was already washing his hands.
“Isagi, you should ice it,” Kurona said quietly. “Just in case, just in case.”
Hiori nodded. “Nagi! Can you go grab some ice packs from the infirmary?”
Nagi, who'd been sitting through the whole ordeal munching on his snacks and gaming on the tablet he'd miraculously produced out of nowhere, looked up in genuine surprise.
“Eeh...? Me? Why...?”
Hiori just stared at him.
Nagi shivered, apparently sensing the invisible spikes Hiori had radiated.
“Ah, well. If it’s for Isagi, I guess I’ll go...”
Isagi stepped in before Nagi could get up. “It’s fine, guys,” he assured them. “The infimary's not far—I’ll go myself. Sorry Nagi, I'll meet you at the field!”
“Roger.”
“Wait, Isagi,” Hiori stopped him. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, really, stay and eat. I'm already done.”
“But—”
“It's ok, Hiori,” Kurona chimed in. “Isagi can handle it, handle it.”
Hiori hesitated, realizing he was the only one still hovering. “Well...” he sighed, “...if you're sure.”
Isagi flashed him a reassuring smile and, after grabbing his things, slipped out of the canteen. His hand, in fact, did still sting a little, but the cold water had helped, and he didn’t want to make a scene. Still, he couldn’t leave it untreated though—even minor injuries could end up eating into training time after all.
But more than that... he was somewhat annoyed with himself. How had he not noticed someone walking right behind him? Yukimiya's presence… or no, rather—had he really been so deep in thought that his spatial awareness had just... evaporated?
Whatever the case, he needed to get this over with and get back to the field as fast as possible. Nagi was waiting.
The walk to the infirmary wasn't far. Isagi was about to reach for the handle when he suddenly heard muffled, low-tone chattering from inside.
“...that you have your own methods, but you should know that this kind of action can be harmful…” “...shut up. I’m well aware of it myself…” “...then…”
“Ness. No further questions. I already have a winning move for the next match. Just… trust in me.”
“… Yes, Kaiser.”
Ugh, Kaiser. Why the hell was he here? Isagi's hand hovered by the door. He really, really didn't feel like going in anymore. But his hand was starting to swell, and he needed to get those ice packs.
Don't care, never cared—He'd just grab them and get out. A short courtesy knock, a push for the door open, a step and two inside.
And there he was: the German emperor in all his glory, perched on the infirmary bed and draped in an insufferable velvet faux-fur bathrobe you'd only ever see in those movies where the bad guy owned a private island. Ness stood at his side, clutching a few fresh ice packs. When he spotted Isagi, his face instantly twisted into a scowl sour enough to curdle milk. Kaiser, meanwhile, merely gave him a silent glance.
“Isagi Yoichi,” Ness began, already itching to throw hands. “What are you doing here? To laugh at Kaiser? Challenge him again?? Last match might've been yours, but in the next one, I swear—”
“Ness, shut it. He’s probably here for ice packs.”
Isagi didn’t even bother asking how Kaiser knew. The guy was observant, he’d probably clocked the swollen hand in a second. Isagi wanted to fire back at Ness—something like, “Did your Emperor losing the bet hit so hard his dog has to bark for him?”—but figured it wasn’t worth the trouble.
He headed for the fridge instead, sneaking a few glances at the pair as he went. Why were they even here? A frown tugged at his face as he looked at that gaudy bathrobe again—so typically extravagant—when he saw something that made his heart skip a beat. No, no, no... what the hell?
What were those marks? Barely visible under the collar, oddly shaped, dark... bruises circling his neck?
It couldn’t be. What the heck... had there been a fight?? Well—given Kaiser's personality, it wasn’t a total surprise if someone had finally snapped and gotten physical with him—but it was just as ridiculous if that did happen, because for one, why would bruises that hadn't been there yesterday show up on his neck of all places, and for another, wasn’t fighting inside Blue Lock against the rules?? Wouldn’t Ego have stepped in, someone already been kicked out, wouldn’t Isagi already have heard about it by now??
Or… or did Ness do that??
Come on—Ness would never lay a hand on Kaiser. If anything, it'd be the other way around! But then, what the hell…
“Finished staring yet?”
Isagi flinched. Kaiser was watching him now, brows scrunched, eyes full of bile, a face that screamed piss off already. Even scowling like that, the guy still managed to look like a damn model somehow.
Isagi realized him moving at a snail's pace had only fed the suspicion, so he snapped himself out of it, grabbed the last two ice packs from the freezer, and made for the door.
Just as he was about to leave, Kaiser spoke up again. “Beware, Yoichi. Next match, I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”
The words dripped with spite and vitriol. And when Isagi turned back, he caught a fierce, almost crushing determination in Kaiser's eyes. Under any other circumstances, Isagi would've returned the fire with a taunt of his own—but he felt like he'd seen something he shouldn't have, and just settled for a flat, "Right back at ya."
Ness hissed something after him, and Isagi let the door click shut behind him.
Once out in the hall, he exhaled sharply.
...Wow. What a disaster of an encounter.
Even with his most bitter rivals in Blue Lock, Isagi had usually always managed to maintain some semblance of a normal conversation off the field. But this was the first time he’d run into Kaiser outside the game's vacuum. Why did every meeting with him have to end up this excruciatingly agonizing?
And—what in the world were those injuries? Kaiser… what the hell did that guy get himself into this time?
Whatever it was, he couldn’t afford to let it distract him right now. People were waiting. Isagi hurried toward the training field, just glad to be out of that suffocating room.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
In the end, he didn’t even get to train with Nagi.
By the time Isagi arrived, Kurona and Hiori were already there, insisting on training with Nagi in his place—despite Isagi's protests that it was his hand, not his leg, that got burned. But then, even Nagi eventually bailed on him: “You should go rest, Isagi... Hiori's like a second-rate Isagi anyway, he'll do fine.” And that comment had sent Hiori into quite a scary rage and unleashed his sadistic side (which mostly meant him absolutely dismantling Nagi's social tolerance by breaking down into his lack of playmaking skills).
Isagi decided that maybe focusing on his hand was the smarter call after all—it was really starting to hurt. In the end, Kurona had said, “You could go analyze more footage. I’ll join you later, later,” and that had sealed the deal.
Now, Isagi just lay on his bed, eyes blank on the ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to look at any more videos—he'd spent the whole morning doing exactly that.
Yes, he'd been analyzing footage of Kaiser’s goals. And after that, he'd thought and talked about Kaiser over lunch with Nagi. And just a few hours ago, he'd run into Kaiser at the infirmary.
AaAAAARGhH—
He couldn’t believe himself! What was he, some obsessed lover?! It’s all that damn asshole's fault for starting this whole rivarly! Because he keeps getting in my way, telling me I should be a "proper obstacle" in his life and all that shit, when he’s now in the process of getting obliterated himself—by me, his own "obstacle" in fact!
He'd devour Kaiser once and for all in the next match, and then he'd never have to see that face again.
...But that face. It had been weirdly quiet this afternoon. Was it because Kaiser finally saw him as a threat? Or was it because of those… bruises...? Where the hell had they come from anyway? Isagi was certain that if there'd been any severe fight inside Blue Lock, word of it would've already spread. Or at the very least, Ego would've made an example out of someone by now.
And while there'd been plenty of physical confrontations on the pitch before, sometimes getting even dangerously close to the real thing—like that one time Bachira almost threw hands with Shidou for Kunigami's sake—everyone here knew the stakes. Breaking the rules meant getting kicked out of Blue Lock, and losing Blue Lock meant losing any chance at a career.
So who did that to him? Not Ness, not any of the Blue Lock players... and the rest of Bastard München made even less sense. Which meant… an accident?
Despite bruises that looked anything but accidental?
Isagi clicked his tongue. Now he really was just making things up. Besides, Kaiser wasn’t nearly careless enough to end up like that. The gaudy clothes, the flashy tattoo, that intolerable over-confidence—the guy treated himself like some kind of masterpiece and practically lived in the spotlight. Even without digging into it himself—God knew Isagi had no interest in doing that—he'd heard enough from Hiori about the endless interviews and magazine spreads that used to follow Germany's U-20 ace around. Kaiser had built an entire persona around being the untouchable "Emperor." Ruining that image, in any way, would’ve been the last thing he wanted.
So could that why there hadn't been any news? Why he'd apparently kept it hidden, when he clearly should've told Ego, Noa, or literally any other soul besides Ness?
...
What the heck. Could pride even go this far? Did any of this make sense? Should Isagi do something about this? Did he want to? Seriously, how... how the heck should he even feel about all of this?
...
...This was out of his league. This whole thing was. From the get-go, everything about Kaiser—his soccer, his skills, his status, to his personality—had been way out of Isagi’s league. And even though, after his last win, he could feel his own soccer slowly but surely closing the gap between them, everything else about Kaiser still towered over him like a giant cliff he'd never manage to scale, let alone comprehend. All the contradictions, his reasons for coming here, his reasons for playing soccer in the first place. He still didn't understand.
Why didn’t it seem to matter how many goals he scored, how crazy exciting or impossible they were? Why did the smile of victory he wore crossing the line everytime never feel like a real celebration—just another sneer of superiority aimed at Isagi, or whoever else happened to be in his way? Never once a moment of fullfillment for himself, the way Bachira or Hiori lit up every time they scored. But to Kaiser, a goal seemed nothing more than a means to an end. Does he not even value his own goals?
Aargh—! There he went, overthinking that damn bastard!! But it was useless! Useless to waste another second on it, useless when all he had was speculation and zero actual facts!!
Shit, what was I even trying to do in the first place?
Oh, right—footage. Footage. Isagi still had a mountain of analysis to get through. But before he could wake the monitor, a knock sounded at the door.
“...It’s me, Isagi, Isagi.” Oh, right.
“Kurona! Come in.”
Kurona stepped inside and shut the door behind him, scanning the room—and Isagi, who'd apparently just been loafing on his bed, having accomplished exactly zero tasks since getting sent back from the field.
“Isagi, did you find anything new in the footage?”
“Ehm... uh… I got a little distracted.”
Kurona tilted his head. “But you're not doing anything.”
Isagi let out a weak laugh and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, well, I was just thinking.”
“…”
“For an hour or so...”
“Okay, okay.”
“...You’re not mad?”
“Well, we're the ones who told you to take break," Kurona said with a shrug. "How’s your hand?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Kurona just nodded, and they set up the monitor together, diving back into the Ubers match.
They started with the opening minutes, going over their tactical positioning and potential improvements of Planet Hotline. Eventually they just drifted into rewatching the whole thing from the top. Isagi knew he needed to focus, but he couldn't help stealing a few side-glances at Kurona throughout. Kurona was deeply fixated on the footage—he probably hadn't seen it nearly as many times as Isagi had. And even if he had, he'd still be a lot more diligent about it than Isagi was being right now.
Kurona… A sudden wave of gratitude welled up in him.
He was lucky to have allies like this. To have friends like this.
Earlier at lunch, he'd thought his friends’ worrying had been a bit overkill... but he knew it all came from a place of goodwill.
And it wasn't just that he was grateful for.
When he first came to Blue Lock, Isagi thought all he would do was fight for survival—spend every waking hour training his body to the bone, turn into a cold, hardened machine with no room for real relationships. But despite the constant cutthroat animosity on the pitch, outside of it, he felt so much relief knowing that there were people who had his back. People he could call real comrades. Bachira, Chigiri... even still Kunigami, in his own way... and now here—Nagi, Hiori, Kurona. And Yukimiya, even if the guy wouldn't admit it.
They were his friends, and that was a comforting thought. Despite the nature of Blue Lock, it would've been a pretty bleak and miserable experience if he'd gone through all of it with no one to joke around with or lean on.
It was almost ironic, really—this place built entirely around cutthroat competition, around the idea that only one person could come out on top, had somehow become the place where he'd found some of the most genuine relationships of his life. For every enemy or rival he’d made in Blue Lock, there was also a comrade he'd gained alongside it. He remembered how, before the Ubers match, even Barou—the cold, prideful tyrant king—had warmed up to his teammates and forged new bonds. Barou was a tyrant no more; he'd become a true, ruling king, leading his team toward shared victory.
And then there was the Emperor. The one ruler who hadn't let a single soul in since he’d arrived.
The initial Bastard München roster had eleven starters join alongside Noel Noa. Of those, Grim and Ness were the ones who consistently supported Kaiser at his plays. But Isagi had only ever seen Ness accompany Kaiser off the pitch. And God, how excruciatingly devoted the guy was—defending his master at every turn, even when Kaiser clearly didn't care either way. From any outside perspective it was obvious Kaiser was just using him as his own obedient midfielder, yet Ness didn’t seem to mind one bit. Their whole dynamic was questionable at best, although Isagi had long since gotten used to the other weird social dynamics inside Blue Lock. Hell—he himself still hadn’t fully come to terms with the "other" Isagi that showed up on the pitch sometimes.
Still, despite all the madness, he still managed to connect with people.
He couldn't say the same for his rival. Or rivals. But at least Rin, as much of a loner as he was, had a personality Isagi understood well enough to find the logic in it.
But the Emperor? Besides Ness, there really was no one else Kaiser actually wanted close to him. The guy who seemingly craved all the fame and success the world could offer, yet when he retreated to his room, there’d be nothing waiting for him but a row of cold trophies. Wasn’t that kind of lonely?
The Emperor's bound to be alone on the throne. Maybe Kaiser had known that the moment he'd set his mind on the role. Strikers were individualists, sure, but soccer was still a team sport at the end of the day—and you could only really succeed when you had players sparking chemical reactions with each other, you could only attain the best of goals when your top-tier performance set off with someone else’s. But at the rate things were going, even Ness wouldn't be able to reach his best anymore, leaving Kaiser to fight on his own. Would that even still be a challenge? No... no, of course it would. The guy had single-handedly scored that impossible goal against Ubers before.
But against their upcoming opponents Paris x Gen, it was an entirely different story. PxG possessed a firepower unmatched by anyone they'd faced so far—two, in fact. Shidou and Rin. Isagi had studied their last few games, and their progress was just insane. There was no telling how much they'd really evolved over the past few weeks. And while Bastard München had struggled to string wins together, PxG’s execution and teamwork had been flawlessly dominating every time. In order to defeat those monsters, could they really still afford to fight amongst themselves?
There was no way in hell he'd ever truly "work together" with Kaiser as a striker. But maybe—maybe they could borrow something from PxG's playbook. Run two separate systems and switch them on the fly, or each take on neutralizing one of the enemy strikers one-on-one.
Isagi shook his head on instinct.
What am I thinking? Hadn’t he sworn just this morning to never cooperate with that guy, even if it meant forfeiting their potential?
But… it wasn't just that. It was so fucking strange.
He felt a burning need to confront the guy right now. Maybe even just to... check on him? Just to make sure there really wasn't anything weird going on in Blue Lock. And if it happened to give them even a slightly better shot against PxG, it'd be worth it.
Whatever the right call was, he knew he couldn’t make it without actually understanding where Bastard München stood right now. He needed to understand their ace—his rival, the ego he planned to devour next match. So he made a decision.
“I’m gonna pay Kaiser a visit.”
Kurona, who'd been laser-focused on the screen, whipped around in surprise.
“Huh, Isagi? Instead of watching the match, you've been sitting there thinking up this joke, joke?”
“Oh—ah—sorry. But... I’m serious.” Isagi realized how sudden and ridiculous that must've sounded to Kurona, but his mind was already set.
“...For real? Why?”
“So we can beat PxG.”
Kurona tilted his head. He said nothing at first, his surprised look just slowly settling into a cautious, reassuring nod.
“Oh, I see,” he eventually said. “I can understand… somewhat. Well—not really, really. But I trust your judgment.”
“Thanks.”
“But... will he even listen to you?”
...Will he?
Isagi got up from the bed, a familiar fire lighting up in his chest.
“…Guess we’re about to find out.”